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I saw a blog that needs some kudos and some elaboration. While we have lots of new stories and a lot of laws we get little else. And for those who make it a feminist issue only you need to check into the Betty Ford Clinic because you are part of the problem. The blog below is good because it hits upon the very nexus that is needed to effect real change.

“Any man that alludes to women as whore. sluts or any of those terms piss me off. It is sexism at it’s worse and women who use those words are committing the same act of sexism.

Why does it matter? Is liking asking she asked for ‘it’. We had this debate about 20 years ago when a Miami prostitute was wearing see-through clothes. The rapists said she was asking for ‘it’.

I called the radio station and claimed that women were and are subject to an “inherent sexual bias”. In effect saying that guys can be whores but that girls really are. Words do matter and young children may begin to repeat the lies.

Is it any wonder then that we excuse this? Is it any wonder that a rape happens then the rapist is allowed to barter legally and the best a woman can get is a civil suit?

So, at the end of the day what has changed? Laws look pretty like the “whores” they allege to protect. I use that term for effect since it is the continued and prevailing attitude among males and our system of jurisprudence.

Look at rape or any other form of abuse and we get laws. Nothing but a cash crop with a bunch of broken women and the harassment associated with just going with the flow.

This is a good blog because it underscores in sexual terms a kind of free-floating bias against victims.”

The comment above is one I made in response and the one below the one case that I was alluding to from Florida. How does this happen and how will it change the future? In another case an immigrant was assaulted and justice was served but the underlying issue was “she deserved it”.

Don’t get me wrong. Offenders should be made to pay but a greater emphasis should be made to alter perceptions and how our responses color our perceptions since we were little kids. ‘Experts’ disagree as to what age we stop forming our personality from about three to seven years of age. Given that, what can we do?

We cannot control everyone twenty-four hours a day but it is painfully obvious we are not making a lot of tangible progress. How do we preserve the natural instinct of men and women and still have respectfulness? Sexuality is not just a cognitive process. We have our perceptions and our instincts.

“According to this model of the psyche, the id is the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends; the super-ego plays the critical and moralizing role; and the ego is the organized, realistic part that mediates between the desires of the id and the super-ego.”

“No More fawning, pandering, spineless, celebrities trying to show the world how wonderfully “enlightened” and “progressive” they are and trampling all over the remains of their own dignity in the process.

No More infantilizing women and demonizing men.
No More feminist propaganda.”

Still what do these PSAs do? And who are these people? What have they done? Most importantly, what is the message and how can it be fixed? Do laws fix our problems or enrich the legal system, estrange people and make people paranoid of each other? As long as we pontificate, hand-wring and make hyperbolic gestures, focus is diverted from the problem and that is respect for each other.

From Wikipedia

“Barefoot and pregnant” is a figure of speech most commonly associated with the controversial idea that women should not work outside the home and should have many children during their reproductive years. It has several other meanings as well.

The phrase “barefoot and pregnant” seems to have been introduced in the early twentieth century by Arthur E. Hertzler, the Horse-and-Buggy Doctor’ from Kansas: “’The only way to keep a woman happy,’ he said, ‘is to keep her barefoot and pregnant.’”[1] By mid-century, the phrase had passed into common parlance, so that an article from 1949 states, “By early 1949, TWA was—in the words of its new president, Ralph S. Damon—both ‘barefoot and pregnant.'”[2]

The variation “barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen” has been associated with the phrase “Kinder, Küche, Kirche” (translated “children, kitchen, church”), used under the German Empire to describe a woman’s role in society. A comparable phrase, “Good Wife, Wise Mother“, emerged in the 1870s in Meiji Japan, and was used as a means of restricting female access to the public realm there,[3] before spreading more widely in East Asian culture.[4]

All men are a stereotype to some feminists with absolutely no redeeming value and nothing to contribute. The men who have doting wives who are depicted as permanently emotionally disabled. From the Burning Bed to Archie Bunker and his Edith, they are secondary and mere props and sexual objects in the case of Farrah Fawcett.

There is a lot of fail here and yet, there are those women who become accustomed and go with the flow as much as Carmela and Tony Soprano. We have Charlie Sheen and his tiger blood, being elevated to a status of drug abuser and self-admitted ‘whore mongerer.” No more what Charlie? House Arrest?

Girls were girls and men were men? Today we have teens and politicians sexting and we have more Laws. What have those laws done? More sex offenders? All the while the number of incidents increase. America and the world portray sexuality being on the verge of illicit boundaries codified with Judges with teenaged girls and boys.

Then we have Miss Phoebe Cates and boobage while Judge Rheinhold finds himself pining for the perfect girl. The confluence of reality and embarrassment. The gray areas become diffuse and yet scenes of date rape and exploitation meld into the minds of young adolescent boys and girls.

And the race to deflower young women is all over the place. From Hermoine, and the Olson Twins to Hannah Montana and Taissa Farmiga the race to show their nude bodies or in sex scenes and scandals. It is like Barely Legal Magazine for young actresses. Taissa was depicted as a minor and in one episode she was having sex with a patient while he was dying. Kind of brutal with an explanation point.

You see, hormone-driven adolescents and middle-aged lurkers think about their conquests against those considered as easy. Two different messages being sent with exploitation of sexuality and the craven desires of Hollywood and musicians.

The answer is to respectfully introduce each gender with realistic views of what makes us human and down playing depravity or simply to examine ourselves. This is not meant to be male-bashing but to examine where we are and where we are going with respect to each other.

Maybe counseling new parents and expecting parents on how to act around children and even pregnant women so as not to traumatize children and infants.

Let’s start treating each other better. Let’s feed one another and a safe warm place to be. That adult was a baby at one time and I think the adult should not be just a statistic for Social Security purposes. Radical feminists need a change of heart and men who harass and debase women need to learn early our biological differences and respect for those differences.

Not to demonize women or men but to teach the Golden Rule. That starts early and is a lifelong process. We can not afford to be merciful, to the sick, depraved or poor. We need to do our part in making this country safe and be strong enough to lead to a better tomorrow. No more hatred directed to anyone whether they be straight, gay, military or civilian, adult and child. Can we evolve?

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The moment of awareness of sexuality comes with vistas not before imagined. Kind of like in the Wonder Years and I was about to find my own Winnie Cooper.

. But this process was painful and at times I felt like I was watching a show from behind a sound-proof glass. I was in love with a few girls and a few could see behind the two-way mirrors. Music was a way to escape and so naturally certain songs were buoyant, light-hearted and romantic in a way that fit with my own personality.

So I cringe at terms like one-hit wonders, bubble-gum music and silly love longs. Paul McCartney nailed it and even John Lenin and Yoko Ono proved that commercialized music may not be all that bad. For me it was Day After Day by Bad Finger and I pined for a cute little idealistic blond teen. I remember that we went on a date to the Paddock Room and I stammered and stumbled and was probably incoherent but it was a date and it became news around the school. One of her friends found out we went out on a date and said that I had the hots for her! And I did. I fumbled that ball a few times but years later the ball was back in my hands and I fumbled it yet again.

She basically told me one day long after High School that I already found what I was looking for. Her! I was confused and botched that badly but she still really liked me, just a bit concerned that I missed the obvious clues. It was like I found the pot of gold but just stared at it and then walked away.

The old High School was a special place where we would play basketball on a court that had a shallow ceiling so you had to shoot a somewhat flat shot. Oddly enough they used to play Varsity Basketball games on that cozy little court. The place had the old building scent which wafted through it’s halls and hinted at love and life and where in the gutters floated love notes and old trees cried out.

One night Mom drove me to the old school and there she was in the crowd still yet coming into focus. She was pretty as a Blue Jay and wobbly as a colt, I saw her skating across the ice when she suddenly saw me and smiled. It was a soft invitation and I took advantage of that opportunity to say “Hi” to her. I was a terrible skater and was very skilled at falling down. Noticing that she grabbed my hands and steadied me. I was in heaven. The warmth of her body and the prospects of something more filled my mind with curious and yet predictable emotions.

As a side note, I did have a first love. The kind where you smile at each other meant you were going steady…LOL

I did have a sixth grade girlfriend named Cheryl and during the fall festival and play I was a paper-machete pumpkin with a green hat that looked like a stem. Sitting inert on the stage until my cue, I was rather inspicuous. Afterwards I dressed in a suit and tie we danced and for some reason it seemed that all the parents with little girls was smitten by me and I had serious game in spite of my shyness. I had ton of pictures taken by parents and this was more fun than square dancing in gym class.

Next year I was in upstate NY in a very strange place, where the community was named after our family Ellistown in Barton, NY outside of Waverly and on Ellistown Road. We moved to the old Brink’s Greenhouse and their fading history replete with a caretaker’s house that become home to hundreds of wasps and other incendiary insects. My parents found Rhubarb though I had never heard of that before.

On my first day in homeroom class the teacher accosted poor Ann R. with a comment about the contraband in her mouth. (gum). I think we were more perplexed about the word (contraband) and I was pondering Ann’s abject humiliation and embarrassment…..

Even at that point were the Freudian connection with her plight and my trying to remain as anonymous as possible. Things were a bit discomfiting as I was elected to the Student Council for our homeroom. An honor that I was both proud of and embarrassed by. I got the feeling the election was more of a joke than an honor.

So the music does play a role in the development of our higher needs. Merely dismissing out of hand any song because of what some people consider to be corny or not deep is ridiculous. These songs do get overplayed but that isn’t the artist fault and sometimes the DJ’s either. From Seasons In The Sun to Sugar Sugar by the Archies, these iconic pops songs transcended the Rock N Roll critics scorn and embedded themselves in the psyche of our frontal lobes. These radio voices were our muses and they live forever and a day.

I think it is funny when the rock jocks, those middle-aged men dressed in black whine about superficial pop songs while wailing on a Fender Stratocaster as their own aging bodies and receding hairlines and pony tails are stuck in a past to be forgotten like an old Class Yearbook and High Times Magazine. Between have Lava Lamps, Mood Rings and Chia Pets there are far worse diversions than a Bobby Goldsboro song like Honey. It is too sappy but Two Live Crew exploits carnal depravity. Dude, where’s My Viagra and remote.